


Static

by HappyKonny



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Dark, Self Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyKonny/pseuds/HappyKonny
Summary: Static, like a broken TV, always in his mind. He wanted it to stop, he NEEDED it to stop. But how?When a TV showed nothing but static, it's broken. You throw broken things away. And if he was broken, maybe...





	

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, suicide is described. Please be aware of that.

Static.

It filled his mind, always. The white noise, like a broken TV. It was always there, filling his mind, making it impossible to think about anything else. He hated it, that noise, constantly in his mind. It made him feel more broken that he really was -or maybe he was just so broken he didn't know how bad it really was.

It got quieter when he was around them. Around him. Their noise drowned out the static, their voices filling his mind and making the static go away. But they got so loud, all speaking at once, it gave him a headache. It hurt his brain, all that noise, blurring together with the static. He hated the pain, he needed to escape it.

But when alone, the static took over. The noise they made was drowned out by it. It was loud, pressing on his ears. All he thought about was how to make the static stop. He hated it, he hated it more than any other noise. But he didn't know how to stop it. How to make it quiet.

He knew why it was tormenting him. Static meant he was broken. Like a broken TV. He never succeeded as villain, he never achieved his goal. Everything he did was failing, every plan, every trick, every scheme, every disguise. All failed, he was a failure.

What did it matter anymore anyways? They all hated him anyways, always judging him for causing mischief, for trying to get him out of town. And he, he never did anything. Always helping, always being kind. It felt like he was just pitying him, like he wasn't worth anything. He wasn't special, just another person.

But he was the villain, wasn't he? The person no one cared about, the person no one _should_ care about. The one hated by all, the one who didn't deserve any friends or anyone wanting to be. The person who was just plain evil and wasn't needed to be understood.

He held his head in his hands, the static too much to bear. He wanted it - _needed_ \- it to stop. He felt like his head was going to explode the longer he waited, the static like cotton in his mind, but denser, growing in size and pushing against his skull, wanting to get out.

How did he make it stop? How could he change it?  
What to do with a broken thing?  
Don't you throw it away? It's broken, it doesn't work anymore. There is no need to keep it around anymore then, no value to it anymore.

He's broken. He doesn't work right anymore, he never had, never succeeding with anything he tried. There was no reason to keep him around anymore then, no value to him anymore. Being thrown away... One couldn't throw oneself away, not quite. What you could throw away was ones life though.

He contemplated it. He thought about it, the pros, the cons. He'd get rid of the static. He'd get away from all of the noise, everything that gave him pain. All the bad memories, all the hate, the judgment. He'd get away from all of it. And who would care? Definitely not anyone from them. Why would they after all, they hated him after all. They judged. They didn't care.

What about him? Would he care? Why would he. He wouldn't care, not about losing him, but losing a person. He'd just fail at saving someone, he'd just fail as a hero. Maybe that would crush him. Maybe with this, he could finally win. Maybe he'd leave town forever, finally. Even if he wouldn't be there to witness it anymore, he'd be peaceful at last. Knowing he won.

He got up from his chair, shaking his head slightly. He felt dizzy, he swayed where he stood. Walking towards the small kitchen area, he couldn't walk in a proper straight line. His mind buzzed with the static, he couldn't concentrate on what he was doing. What was he doing again? Ah yes, a knife. That's what he had wanted.

He found one, it was easy. In a drawer, easily to access. He looked up, from the shiny knife to his chair. Should he go back to it? No, why should he bother. Instead, he pushed up his sleeve and without much thinking pressed the knife onto his wrist, cutting along it, deep.

The static lifted slightly. It got a little quieter, didn't hurt as much. The blood flowing over his skin felt more soothing than anything else. But the static wasn't gone. It was still there, drumming in his ears, pressing against his skull.

He cut again.  
Again.  
And again.  
Until the static was silent, until the pressure in his head was gone.

He started to feel cold. His blood trickled to the ground, his arm falling back to his side, dangling there. The blood running down over his hands, dripping off his fingertips and onto the ground. He barely felt it anymore, the colour of his skin slowly paling.  
He leaned against the counter, starting to feel weaker. Knees feeling like pudding, eyelids growing heavy. He wished he had gone back to his chair. He felt so tired, he wanted to sleep.

He took a step away from the counter and towards his chair. Walking slowly, he almost tripped and fell. It didn't sound so bad, letting himself fall to the ground, just sleeping there. Walking was so much work anyways, why bother with it? He didn't even care how comfortable it would be to be on the ground.

There was a sound. Something rumbling, sliding through one of the tubes. Was it from the entrance of his lair? He wasn't sure, he couldn't be sure. He didn't care though, all he wanted was to sleep. He was cold, and tired. He had troubles keeping his eyes open, to stay awake. They dropped and he had to tell himself to stay awake. But it was so hard...

"Robbie?", a voice, he could hear it. Looking up, he saw blue. Blue? It was like the sky, why could he see the sky? No, no wait. It wasn't the sky, it was the elf. Sportacus.  
"Are you alright? Is- is that blood?", he approached him, came nearer. That was worry in his voice, concern on his face. Was he concerned for him? The villain? It sounded ridiculous. Like... like a dream. He could... enjoy, one last dream, right?

"Sport...acus...", Robbie smiled, for once glad to see the hero. He always dreamed of it, didn't he? That Sportacus would really care for him, would really worry. For him, the bad guy, the one everyone hated.

His eyes closed, his body fell. He couldn't stay awake any more. He was too tired, too weak, too cold.  
He could feel that he didn't touch the ground. That he had been caught. He heard something, was it a voice? It was so shaky. He couldn't hear it, it was so muffled. Like his ears were stuffed. But he didn't care, didn't mind.

He let his mind wander. He started to forget the voice -the noises. He forgot the feeling of warmth next to him. Forgot the strong arms holding him. Forgot where he had been. What he had done. Who he was.  
He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about anything anymore. Why should he? Now he had peace, it was finally silent.

No static. No noisy children. No voices. Nothing pressing against his skull anymore, no pain anymore, no judgment, no hate. Finally he had what he wanted... Peace, and quiet. Comforting darkness. Better than anything could be, surely.

**Author's Note:**

> Well wasn't this sad? After playing games dealing with suicide, I got this idea.  
> I, uhm. Sorry


End file.
